Writing Commissions-ish ?

Discussion in 'Writers' Corner' started by Joniia, Mar 14, 2019.

  1. Hello!
    I'm Jonii and I love writing
    Because I love writing so much, I decided to open up commission-type things on EMC for traction, contribution, and to hone my writing skills.
    I'm willing to write just about anything - You need help with your new dnd campaign? I've got you. Want a short story about an au you have? Why not. Do you desire a personalized story with characters or a plot you have in mind? I'll do it.
    If this interests you, please continue reading for more information.
    Free! No catch - For the time being, at least.

    How to Contact Me:
    Comment or pm. If you comment and it's a little elaborate, I will ask you to pm me. Anything very blatant or simple, however, can be commented, and I will respond accordingly. Though, please do comment no matter what! I need those bumps. Please.

    What I'll Write:
    Almost anything, like I said. Just request it and we can discuss it. I write all genres, all formats, and will even write you rules, nonfiction works, etc.

    What I Absolutely WILL NOT Write:
    Anything MA, hate-spreading, your essays for school, overtly religious works (NOTE: This is only because I am not familiar with any religion enough to write something focused on the beliefs. I do not want to risk putting my name on something that is factually incorrect or insensitive)

    Do NOT redistribute my work anywhere unless I give you permission. I am writing this for you for personal use. You may use it wherever you like on EMC as long as it is not used maliciously and I am given proper credit. I reserve all rights to my own work. I would also like to note that, as of 3/14/19, you are not paying for my work. You, therefore, haven't bought the rights to it either.
    I've been on EMC for about 5ish years now, and I've really lost touch with the community. I am hoping that this will be a way to start my descent back in and to contribute something other than user count.

    Also, if you want to see a sampling of some short things I've written, please pm me or you can request it in the comments. I may post something I'm proud of here from time to time.

    Have a good day!
    Finished Requests/Commissions:
    Life After Death - R: Otus_NigRum - Pg 1, #6

    Past, Present, and Future - R: Eviltoade - Pg 1, #8
  3. I like this idea a lot, and since it's free I hope for some awesome stories!

    Can you make a story about what happens after we die? Do whatever you can think of, it doesn't have to be religious, or follow any other theory out there, just write what could possibly be out there after we die, whether it's a journey to an afterlife, or maybe waking up in some Alien's backyard, let it be whatever!
    607 and Joniia like this.
  4. Aa! Yes, I can write something like that. Love the creative freedom! This is something I've definitely thought about alot and I'd be happy to write it for you.
  5. Interesting! I'll be watching this, and if I have an interesting idea I'll let you know. :)
    Joniia likes this.

  6. Here it is! I hope you enjoy it and that I did the prompt justice. Just a quick little write-up with a vague speaker explaining it to you, I rambled on a little bit.
    Life After Death
    Requested by: Otus_NigRum
    On October 7th, 2008, I lost my mother. The air was crisp, and the sun was a honeyed shade of yellow. That day felt hopeful, bright, and I wonder, now, if it was meant to be that way. My mother’s house had wooden floorboards that whined. I remember the minute that familiar sound turned on me, only worsening my panic. She flatlined in her makeshift hospital bed on the second floor at 3:46 p.m., and every day since then, I have wondered where she is now. As of October 9th, 2018, I am able to answer my own question.

    When I was alive, I would feed into those tabloids and stories about people dying and returning from the afterlife. These people – they would talk of never-ending darkness, or maybe seeing a man playing the role of God. They were always exaggerated, hard-to-believe; why did I read them? For closure, maybe. Nonetheless, nothing prepared me for the beautiful simplicity that was death.

    It first feels like a wave of relief washing over you, seeping into your skin. No more pain, worry, difficulty. Then the realization hits. You’re dead. There is no beginning, there is no end, there is only an expanse of darkness before your eyes. Terror sets in, but it is for a fleeting moment before a piercing noise shoots through the empty void, drawing your attention to one of the nonsensical directions. Within seconds your most cherished memories will begin to play. Footage gathered from your mind, discovered by your senses, playing before you no matter how forgotten or faded they may have become. Death remembers everything, life does not.

    After you’ve had a good cry, or a good laugh, and at the very least experienced a mess of emotions, the man will open the door for you. A solid black, unnoticeable, unmoving door that is pushed open by a man in a tailored suit, gesturing to the bright white that is the inevitable. You really have no choice, I had no choice. If you dare not follow the man through the doorway and into the plush comfort of the afterlife, then you must remain in the void. Eventually, you will become the void. Join the expanse, per se.

    I cannot tell you what the afterlife is once you enter the blinding light. It varies for everyone. For me, it was my mother’s house, before the stress cracks formed, and the wallpaper peeled just slightly. It was a perfect replica of my childhood home. I reunited with my mother – though, I cannot be sure if it truly is her. It could be another perfect manufacturing made by the man, but nonetheless, the whining floorboards are still there, and the hospital bed is gone. It feels real enough to me.

    You can speak to the man if you would like. But you must always be careful in his presence. He is not what he seems, he is not even what he is called. He is not a man, he is just the darkness materialized. Maybe he is God, though. Maybe he is an alien. Who’s to say? Not even the oldest souls collected by Death can tell you what the afterlife is, it is an ambiguous term. It is whatever you want it to be. It is the end.
  7. WOW, If this wasn't a minecraft forum I would have been 100% sure I was reading a chapter from a famous novel! Amazing work!
    MoreMoople and Joniia like this.
  8. Past, Present, and Future
    Requested by: Eviltoade
    “Toades are a race of space amphibians from a distant swamp planet - my race was unfortunately very evil (this is where i got my name Eviltoade) - and we were fast taking over the galaxy! News spread and a Dragon Army rose up and a massive bloody war ensued on my planet which was destroyed in the process, but I alone escaped in a ship - since I had nowhere to go, I followed the dragon army back to their homeworld and landed just outside their capital city called The Empire. While here, I changed my evil ways and vowed to help the people of the empire.

    It is strange how accustomed to warfare one gets when they wake up morning after morning to the sounds of destruction. I remember looking out of windows slightly glazed over with humidity, seeing the fast-paced deterioration of the skyline. Weeping willows cried with me and darkened the morning skies with their foliage. A sense of old-world comfort to me at the time. It wasn’t enough, though. Nothing was. Everyone was terrified. We were supposed to be evil, strong, cruel, but our power was lessening. It could be felt everywhere. The tension and heaviness of the mere idea of facing the end of our homeland was growing every day. This was no simple battle, no case of world war – this was global domination, and the enemy was going to win. Desperation ate at my mind and pumped through my veins.

    No evening spent below the trees in the decaying marshes among fireflies could calm my nerves. My anger stole the spotlight in time for me to devise a plan for escape, for surrender. Maybe we had become a weak people, but we had not become a foolish people. I knew when it was time for me to put up my detrimental white flag to live. So, one dark and lifeless night, I left. I left home, I left everything I knew. I was walking through roads unrecognizable, mud coating my skin in uneven layers and disturbing sights littering city streets. There was no time for sorrow, only time to flee.

    I had made it to my destination; a silver-plated ship, unwatched and unnoticed by nonexistent Toade troops. I slipped inside the metal chamber and set my destination. I was to join the enemy, to enter the land of the Dragons. Luck was on my side, and Father Time had given me a blessing as I witnessed the total, rapid, disappearance of my planet from the fabric of space. Gone – the only thing to show for it being a persistent memory that haunts me to this day. I could only watch on in agony as friends, family, and lovers were wrapped in a vice of hot, burning fire that crawled around the sides of the sphere like a spider around a fly. I was the sole survivor, and I will carry that guilt to my deathbed.

    Sometimes I lie alone at night, staring at the stars in the sky, and search for my star. My home. But it is nowhere. It is gone. It was destroyed as quickly as it was created. I often wonder if I was meant for something greater, hence why souls above protected me, or if I was just an eager, selfish fool who had impeccable timing. I miss my brethren, my blood parents – and there is no use to miss them, because I will never see them again. I will never take a stroll along murky banks after going for a swim, or visit the graves of fallen Toadesoldiers, without my motherland there, waiting for my return.

    After some time had passed and I landed outside of The Empire, I had still not yet registered the events that had taken place not even hours before. I eventually forced myself out of the ship, putting shaky foot after shaky foot on the ground, to be met with authorities and soldiers. They asked me who I was, why I was here, what my plans were. They were not satisfied with any of my answers and would not be satisfied until I vowed my entire mind, body, and soul to them. It was understandable that they wouldn’t trust a Toade – we had been tyrants, cruel to the Dragon Army and their home world. I was taken to the courts, where they were to decide my fate.

    Now, death – that wasn’t their way. That was our old way. But I couldn’t stop them from banishing me. I explained to them how I’d never fought for the Toade army, never done anything to classify me as inherently evil besides my citizenship. I expected the trial to go on for hours, days even, like Toade trials. However, I was surprised to be juxtaposed when they heard out my story, responding with compassion and ‘another chance’. Chances were risky. Dangerous. A liability. I was a liability. The Dragon people, though, they were welcoming me with open arms after I proved to not be a threat. I was given housing, food, employment; all of these were next to impossible to obtain during the war. I changed myself for the better. I learned to accept others, to treat others with sensitivity and kindness. I became a part of the community, despite my race.

    It’s never easy to change yourself, especially when you are molded by your upbringing and past. It’s easy to forget your past when you do change yourself, though. However, I don’t plan to erase my past. I am able to acknowledge the wrongdoings of my people, but as the only survivor, I have a sense of both responsibility and guilt to pass on my stories and memories to future generations so we will not be forgotten. Maybe, one day, when I lay down under the night sky to gaze at stars, I will not feel emptiness at the missing planet that is meant to shine in the sky, high above, but I will feel satisfaction and fulfillment in the fact that I’ve fulfilled my indebted duty to my people, family, and history.
    ShelLuser, JohnKid, Top_Benny and 2 others like this.
  9. Like I told Janiia via PM, this was perfect :) SO very happy with the result!!
    Top_Benny, MoreMoople and Joniia like this.
  10. Im bumping this because... I need prompts, please
    Gaming_Comander likes this.
  11. XD

    I literally spent hours writing out something EXACLTY like this. then of course the computer wiped it all and I never got it back.

    Oh, well.

    Hope buisness goes well!
    Joniia likes this.
  12. If you write long things, write in something that will save it! (I use Notepad++, or I just write wherever and copy my text to temp.txt in Notepad periodically).
    Stnywitness likes this.
  13. Yeah, I do that sometimes, but didnt for this one :oops:
    607 likes this.
  14. Another bump because.... I need it
  15. Hi, I wrote this little drabble thing if anyone wants to read it.
    Also I know nothing about NYC really but I still wrote this.
    Requests are still open (ofc) so send them in if you want.

    New York City (or, One Breath In, One Breath Out)
    New York City is romanticized as an idyllic melting pot of art and culture, where anyone can get rich. This is a ridiculous image to have. New York City is, actually, a mixture of naïve yuppies and crime. The best part is that it is almost impossible to afford for anyone who isn’t rich. The perfect city for cynics, isn’t it?

    So, it was no surprise when a 20-something young man rolled out of bed and into the snow-covered streets of Kingsbridge to come face to face with an art installation masked with faux meaning. The bitter cold snuck into his lungs and underneath his much-too-expensive Patagonia, snow melting on his flush skin. One breath in, one breath out. He was used to the concept of useless, meaningless artwork by now. With his old camera perfectly poised, he took a sharp photograph before returning his chilled hands to his pockets. Hopefully, this shot would earn him breakfast. One breath in, one breath out.

    This man, with the spirit of a boy, was not a cynic. He was not living for money, and money surely was not living for him. He always thought cynicism was a philosophy for the weak searching for power, but he would never say that. He knew better than to. He turned from the steel structure and moved his boot-clad feet automatically to the overpriced coffee shop at the corner. One breath in, one breath out. His regular order, hazelnut coffee. He did not know he could make this back at his apartment with the peeling wallpaper for less, simply feeding into the capitalism that haunted his familiar piece of the world. Warmth enveloped his being at the feeling of the addictive drink slipping past his lips. Shedding his jacket, he opened the laptop he could barely afford. The quality of the device itself was a constant reminder of financial instability. One breath in, one breath out.

    Warmed fingertips danced across backlit, sticking keys and swam against a small touchpad. The image of an artist’s attempt at something great reflected in the photographer’s eyes as he set to work at touching up the minuscule details. Never good enough, even with expensive programs and the drive of thousands behind him. He closed his technology with a hum. One breath in, one breath out. He retreated to the snow-covered streets of Kingsbridge and rolled into bed, and it was no surprise. Exhaustion overcame his being as night drew on, and the question of his next meal would be answered at sunrise. The poor dreamer was one of many in a city for cynics, and he did not belong there. He knew this. One breath in, one breath out.

    New York City is like a flip of a coin. A coin that leans heavily towards one side over another. A coin that is unpredictable but predictable at the same time. The perfect city for cheaters, isn’t it?

    So, it was no surprise when a 20-something young woman rolled out of bed and into the snow-covered streets of Crown Heights to come face to face with a manager masked with faux intentions.